rauyran
Burner of Worlds
Name: Rauyran (no known surname)
Titles: Sir (earned during an early mercenary campaign)
Age: 50
Race: Human
Appearance: A well-built, bearded man. His shoulder-length brown hair and full beard are flecked with silver. His eyes are grey and his face is weathered from being in the open for much of his life. He has a scar under his chin and another along the inside of his left arm.
Demeanor: Although quiet and thoughtful he is quick to laugh when among his friends. He has huge patience and keeps a cool head in tough situations.
His story:
I still remember my father even though he died before I saw seven summers. The last time I saw him it had been raining and he was hurrying into the house after a hard day's toil with the farmers of the dales. The rain was like ice and hadn't let up since it started at daybreak. I watched from the stairs as he shuffled out of his drenched clothes. My mother wrapped him up in goatskins and sat him before the fire to warm his body but it seemed that her tender care wasn't enough for I could hear him coughing late into the night. The next day he did not appear and I when I asked my mother about him she bustled me away to look after our small family of goats. Even from outside in the goat pen I could hear his coughs, longer now and hollow. Then later that day they suddenly stopped, to be replaced by a sobbing cry from my mother. We burned his body after the custom of the dale folk but even at that young age I could sense my mother's anxiety. This was not our way, not our tradition. Even after all those years we were still strangers in the dale.
My mother and I never spoke of my father or of their life before they came to the dales. But all around our small house were small clues that told me that their lives had been very different in years past. Over my parent's bed hung a worn tapestry but if I looked closely then I could see traces of gold in the weave. Most had been plucked out over the years, perhaps to pay for winter food or a repair to the cart, but enough remained to hint at better times. On the table beside my father's side of the bed there was a plain rosewood casket just a few inches across. One time I walked in on my mother who had the casket lid open and was gazing at its contents, a tear on her cheek. She started when she heard me and snapped the lid shut before wiping her face and taking me back downstairs.
When my mother eventually died years later I opened the casket and found inside a ring with a band of gold and a small pale orange gemstone inset in a simple gold setting. When I looked closely at the gemstone I could see it contained the body of a small bee or wasp. The size of the ring told me that it had belonged to my father but I never saw him wear it, nor do I know the significance of the bee. I took the ring as my own and that day set of toward the city. I had sold our few remaining goats to a neighbour in return for food and hard wearing boots, goatskin of course!
Later that month I joined a company of mercenaries who were recruiting hard in the city. I was wet around the ears and could barely swing the training sword but I wasn't afraid of any of my fellow trainees nor of the trainers. It seemed I was destined for swordplay though because I soon became the best of that season's intake and was on my first campaign within 2 months. Throughout my time as a sellsword I kept that ring close to me hoping one day to understand its significance. Although I ranged far and wide across many parts of the world I never once found anything that brought me closer to an answer. I lost myself in the glory of battle and partook in all the pleasures of a free man with no one to answer to but his sword. I did things that now I am ashamed of and those times bring sorrow into my heart.
My life changed when one day I came across a burned and ruined village and a pair of child orphans hiding in the smoking shell of their house. That was the day that, wtth tears on my cheeks, I lay down his sword and swore never to fight again. I took charge of the orphans and became their protector, watching over them until they were adults, with families of their own. Three years ago I left the eastern city where I had raised them as my own. My boy (he is as dear to me as if he were my own blood) is now an apprentice to a master craftsman and he hopes to marry the craftsman's daughter some day. My girl reminds me of myself in my younger days. She wields a sword like a man 5 years her elder and she can best any of the guards in her lord's entourage. One day she'll be the commander of those guards, I see it in her eyes. Now they are grown, once more the yearning to understand my parent's history has come to me. These past years I have been wandering these lands in search of something that connects me to my past.
My first stop in the Northern Kingdoms was in Stormhold where I met with Jarl Draco Lonmar. I offered my services as an armourer, having picked up some knowledge of repairs and blacksmithing during my mercenary days. I also took up the banner of House Lonmar, a family that adopted me as I had adopted my foundlings. Still, the burning wanderlust inside me did not subside and I continued to roam the land searching for more knowledge about the bee in the gemstone.
It was in an Inn in Heaven's Reach that I encountered the old man who set my course anew once more. He told me of an ancient tomb lost beneath the sands of the desert many centuries ago. The tomb was plundered when looters broke through its walls and among the treasures they found were gemstones like the one I carried, each with a bee encased within. it seemed to me that somehow one of these stones had fallen into the hands of my father, or perhaps he was descended from one of these thieves. My only clue was to be found in that tomb but it had been lost once more. Now I have headed south to the burning deserts to begin the seemingly impossible task of finding this lost tomb once more with the hope of unlocking my father's hidden past.
Titles: Sir (earned during an early mercenary campaign)
Age: 50
Race: Human
Appearance: A well-built, bearded man. His shoulder-length brown hair and full beard are flecked with silver. His eyes are grey and his face is weathered from being in the open for much of his life. He has a scar under his chin and another along the inside of his left arm.
Demeanor: Although quiet and thoughtful he is quick to laugh when among his friends. He has huge patience and keeps a cool head in tough situations.
His story:
I still remember my father even though he died before I saw seven summers. The last time I saw him it had been raining and he was hurrying into the house after a hard day's toil with the farmers of the dales. The rain was like ice and hadn't let up since it started at daybreak. I watched from the stairs as he shuffled out of his drenched clothes. My mother wrapped him up in goatskins and sat him before the fire to warm his body but it seemed that her tender care wasn't enough for I could hear him coughing late into the night. The next day he did not appear and I when I asked my mother about him she bustled me away to look after our small family of goats. Even from outside in the goat pen I could hear his coughs, longer now and hollow. Then later that day they suddenly stopped, to be replaced by a sobbing cry from my mother. We burned his body after the custom of the dale folk but even at that young age I could sense my mother's anxiety. This was not our way, not our tradition. Even after all those years we were still strangers in the dale.
My mother and I never spoke of my father or of their life before they came to the dales. But all around our small house were small clues that told me that their lives had been very different in years past. Over my parent's bed hung a worn tapestry but if I looked closely then I could see traces of gold in the weave. Most had been plucked out over the years, perhaps to pay for winter food or a repair to the cart, but enough remained to hint at better times. On the table beside my father's side of the bed there was a plain rosewood casket just a few inches across. One time I walked in on my mother who had the casket lid open and was gazing at its contents, a tear on her cheek. She started when she heard me and snapped the lid shut before wiping her face and taking me back downstairs.
When my mother eventually died years later I opened the casket and found inside a ring with a band of gold and a small pale orange gemstone inset in a simple gold setting. When I looked closely at the gemstone I could see it contained the body of a small bee or wasp. The size of the ring told me that it had belonged to my father but I never saw him wear it, nor do I know the significance of the bee. I took the ring as my own and that day set of toward the city. I had sold our few remaining goats to a neighbour in return for food and hard wearing boots, goatskin of course!
Later that month I joined a company of mercenaries who were recruiting hard in the city. I was wet around the ears and could barely swing the training sword but I wasn't afraid of any of my fellow trainees nor of the trainers. It seemed I was destined for swordplay though because I soon became the best of that season's intake and was on my first campaign within 2 months. Throughout my time as a sellsword I kept that ring close to me hoping one day to understand its significance. Although I ranged far and wide across many parts of the world I never once found anything that brought me closer to an answer. I lost myself in the glory of battle and partook in all the pleasures of a free man with no one to answer to but his sword. I did things that now I am ashamed of and those times bring sorrow into my heart.
My life changed when one day I came across a burned and ruined village and a pair of child orphans hiding in the smoking shell of their house. That was the day that, wtth tears on my cheeks, I lay down his sword and swore never to fight again. I took charge of the orphans and became their protector, watching over them until they were adults, with families of their own. Three years ago I left the eastern city where I had raised them as my own. My boy (he is as dear to me as if he were my own blood) is now an apprentice to a master craftsman and he hopes to marry the craftsman's daughter some day. My girl reminds me of myself in my younger days. She wields a sword like a man 5 years her elder and she can best any of the guards in her lord's entourage. One day she'll be the commander of those guards, I see it in her eyes. Now they are grown, once more the yearning to understand my parent's history has come to me. These past years I have been wandering these lands in search of something that connects me to my past.
My first stop in the Northern Kingdoms was in Stormhold where I met with Jarl Draco Lonmar. I offered my services as an armourer, having picked up some knowledge of repairs and blacksmithing during my mercenary days. I also took up the banner of House Lonmar, a family that adopted me as I had adopted my foundlings. Still, the burning wanderlust inside me did not subside and I continued to roam the land searching for more knowledge about the bee in the gemstone.
It was in an Inn in Heaven's Reach that I encountered the old man who set my course anew once more. He told me of an ancient tomb lost beneath the sands of the desert many centuries ago. The tomb was plundered when looters broke through its walls and among the treasures they found were gemstones like the one I carried, each with a bee encased within. it seemed to me that somehow one of these stones had fallen into the hands of my father, or perhaps he was descended from one of these thieves. My only clue was to be found in that tomb but it had been lost once more. Now I have headed south to the burning deserts to begin the seemingly impossible task of finding this lost tomb once more with the hope of unlocking my father's hidden past.
I like it! I like it a lot!!!
